


Forever, Whatever

by Everything_is_Temporary



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical Cursing, Enemies to Lovers, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everything_is_Temporary/pseuds/Everything_is_Temporary
Summary: Owen is determined to take his revenge, and with Von Nazi's new technology almost operational everything is coming together nicely for a climatic showdown sure to break Curt Mega beyond repair...So if Curt could just stay the fuck alive long enough to appreciate the culmination of all Owen's hard work, that would be appreciated.AU in which Curt returns to the field earlier than expected, and the dangerous consequences of his "grieving process" force Owen to personally intervene. After all, what good is a carefully constructed revenge plot if the damn idiot gets himself killed before Owen has the chance to.
Relationships: Agent Curt Mega & Tatiana Slozhno, Owen Carvour & Tatiana Slozhno, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

Owen stood in the center of a dark room, his face illuminated by the glow of several monitors in front of him. He watched the CCTV footage play out over again, still not entirely sure what emotion the grainy monochrome photoplay of his ex lover called up in him. Of course there was the ever present cold rage that sat like a lead case around his heart these days, but behind that there was a new annoyance building. It was a petty itch in his chest that almost seemed to poke through the heavier feelings of grief and hatred he'd been stewing in during the half a year that had passed since his recovery. 

Those last six months had not been idle for Owen. No, he'd been rather busy indeed. It hadn't taken long to work his way up through the ranks of Chimera, networking had always been one of his strong suits and his skills and experience in the field made his worth as an asset undeniable. His kill count these days was impressive to say the least, he'd begun to make quite a name for himself within the organization. Once he'd been introduced to that bumbling, useable puppet Von Nazi everything seemed to be coming together. With the technology the Baron was developing revenge was at Owen's fingertips. He was going to take dismantle everything that Agent Curt Mega had ever believed in and make him watch. He'd make it so by the time he struck the killing blow death would come as a relief. It was the least Curt deserved, and Owen was determined to see it through.

So if Curt could just stay the fuck alive long enough to appreciate the culmination of all Owens hard work, that would be much appreciated. 

Of course Owen had kept tabs on his former flame in the months that had passed. He hated that man with every fiber of his being, and watching him drink himself to depression had brought a twisted sort of joy. Seeing Curt, laid up on his couch, drinking whiskey from the bottle and growing out some uncomfortable, patchy facial hair. It was pathetic, and while it couldn't hold a candle to the magnitudes of torment Owen had in store for him, watching Curt suffer this way was just enough to take the edge off Owens fury, and keep him from going off like one of Curts bombs - too soon and in the wrong place. 

When one of his little birdies had informed him that Cynthia was demanding Curt's return to the field it hadn't come as a surprise. Cynthia was a cold woman, and while he'd always believed she'd had a sort of fondness for the both of them it would never have gotten in the way of her doing her job. She wanted her best agent back in the field, and Cynthia Houston usually got what she wanted. 

In anticipation of that Owen sent out a few Chimera agents, two of the newer ones who'd been grumbling about not having anything important to do, to tail Mega on his first mission back. They'd been instructed to follow him, collect any footage they could, and report back to him directly with their findings. Owen wasn't entirely sure he expected them to make it back at all, believing it highly likely that Curt would realize he was being followed and kill them before they had a chance to get anything useful. This was only one of many, many things that did not go as he'd expected. 

The CCTV footage Owens agents had... acquired showed a very different man than the one Owen remembered from less than a year ago. The Curt Mega of Owen's memory was often careless and brash, and did an inappropriate amount of drinking on the job. He was a cocky show off with little concern for his own safety... or the safety of his partners. Still, he'd always been sharp in the field, and for all his bumbling around and ham fisted attempts at subterfuge, he'd at least always given off them impression of control. Even when at the mercy of his enemies, Mega had always remained collected and calm, and given the distinct impression that he knew what he was doing.

The man projected across the monitors now was far from the calm, collected, suave image Owen was accustom to. Even at a distance and despite the poor quality of film it was impossible to miss the way Curts body was shaking from the moment he entered the compound. His hands wavered every time he fumbled for his pistol. He didn't move with the practiced grace of a secret agent, slipping through the shadows. Instead, he stumbled down the main walkway like a drunk on his way home from the bar, tripping over his own dress shoes all the way. By the time he, by some act of God, found the files he'd been sent for, the entire compound had been alerted to his presence, and he had sweat through his suit jacket. He'd ended up making it out, but only through sheer dumb luck, and with two bullet holes in his side. The most damning thing, however, was that both Owen's agents had returned entirely unscathed to report that not once had Mega even so much as glanced around to see if he had been followed. The level of carelessness did not keep a man alive very long in their business, and Owen needed Curt alive... for now. 

Cynthia would've had some harsh words for her precious special agent upon his return, of that Owen was certain. Just as he was sure that Curt would be back in the field again in no time, with some new gadgets and a sharp warning to not fuck up again in the future. Still, Owen though looking up at a still frame of Curt, slumped against a filing cabinet and heaving at the sight of his own bloody side wound, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on Mega's next few missions. There was no point in going through so much effort and planning only to watch him die by someone else's hands. Curt Mega did not get to die, not unless Owen was the one holding the gun to his head and squeezing the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

Owen was about fifteen seconds from banging his head against the desk... repeatedly. 

In the last two months Curt Mega had become a bigger headache than Owen could have ever thought possible. He'd started out just having him tailed, sure, but after the third time Curt had frozen up or broken down at near fatal moments Owen had been forced to order his agents to intervene. 

He now spent a far too significant portion of his time watching Curt's missions through monitor screens and directing Chimera operatives when and where to step in to avoid being noticed. Not that Curt was noticing much of anything these days. The intention to detail Owen had spotted on his first mission back had steadily gotten worse, to the point that some days it seemed highly unlikely that whatever file or blueprint Curt ended up stumbling out with was even at all similar to what he'd been sent to find in the first place. If his mind was half as clouded by booze as it seemed to be, that would hardly be a surprise. 

At that particular moment, Curt should have been rigging a laboratory to blow. Something to do with new weapons of mass destruction, it had nothing to do with Chimera's plans, so Owen wasn't too concerned with the details. What Curt appeared to be doing instead was... not much of anything really, as far as he could tell from watching the screen. 

Curt stood stock still near the corner of an empty lab room, explosives in hand. By the shake of his shoulders it was clear he was breathing hard and fast, but by his pallor he didn't seem to be getting much air in. The audio Owen had tapped into was fuzzy, but he could still hear Curts voice through the static. 

"Owen? Owen, please. Owen" 

He grit his teeth hard, and whispered for his agents to standby. As gratifying as it was to see Curt feeling rightfully guilty over his demise, it was also unnerving to hear his name said in that way. Frankly it was unnerving to hear his name at all. Chimera wasn't really big on names. Owen had been going by his last name within the organization for some time, but even that was slowly being phased out, and he imagined that soon he'd have to take on a new title. A new mask to wear, as it were. Still, it was the tone that really unsettled him. As if no time had passed at all, as if Owen didn't have every reason to hate that broken, hollowed out man on the monitor. And he did hate him, that hadn't changed. Seeing Curt shaking there, acting like he had a right to mourn a man he'd murdered, it made him sick. 

After a few moments Curt seemed to come out of whatever little episode he'd been having. With trembling fingers he set the bomb timer for six minuets, because of course NOW he would decide that six was cutting it close enough, and made to stumble back towards the exit, taking another hit from his flask as he went. 

That was when Owen heard a voice come through his earpiece,

"Um, a-agent Carvour, Sir?" Owen sighed and rubbed quick circles at his temples. He could already feel another headache coming on.

"What is it agent?" 

"T-there is a group of six operatives rounding the corner to the target's location Sir... do you... do you want us to intervene?" 

Owen cursed under his breath. Curt was in no state to take on six trained and armed individuals right now. That would have been daring even before... everything, and in his present state that would be a death sentence. 

While he didn't usually mind sacrificing his own agents to achieve his ends - the part of him that would have cared about that had died writhing on the floor in a dirty Russian weapons facility almost a year ago - this would make the fourth agent in just this week lost for the sake of keeping Curt Mega alive. The idea of wasting resources on that man chafed at him. Still, Owen had come so far for his revenge. He didn't intend to let that be taken from him now.

"Yes agent, intercept and terminate all operatives."

He shut the com link down after that. He knew what the outcome would be, but with any luck the agent's death would give Curt enough time to get away. 

Over the monitors he watched the scene play out exactly as he'd directed. Curt rendezvoused with his partner of the week, a nervous blonde from the Midwest who Cynthia was probably hoping would have enough hero worship for the Great Curt Mega to stick it out as his partner for at least a second mission. Judging by the quick glances he was shooting towards Curt's white knuckled grip on his weapon, that wasn't looking very likely. 

As for Owen's own agent... well. He died bravely in service to the cause, and Owen was sure someone would mourn him. That wasn't really his prerogative.

He was so absorbed trying to decipher the conflicting feelings of resentment and triumph brought on by this miniature success that the knock on the door almost took him by surprise. Almost. He wasn't called one of the greatest spies to ever live for nothing. He turned to see an agent in a tan trench coat with a cap pulled low over his face.

"Yes? What is it?" 

"The Director wants to see you sir. Said to meet him in his office, and wear your mask." 

Well that was an interesting development. His mask, made custom to fit his face like a second skin, was really only necessary on missions. He rarely ever needed to put it on within the walls of Chimera's compound. This might mean a meeting with a new client, or that he was about to be sent out into the field again. Still, the Director had never steered him wrong before. So Owen dawned his mask, and with it slipped into the skin of someone new. A mercenary, a Hitman without a name, known only by reputation. He followed the plainly dressed agent down to the Director's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! Just FYI that's not normal for me, and updates probably won't be this quick in the future. I'm just in a writing mood today (plus... it's a quarantine. What else am I going to do?).
> 
> Next Chapter will introduce Tatiana


	3. Chapter 3

"There he is, the deadliest man alive! Please, take a seat" 

Owen slid down into the uncomfortable wooden chair positioned across from the  
Director's desk. The man himself was leafing casually through his filing cabinet against the leftmost corner of the room, and barely seemed to be paying Owen any attention at all.

"Well, I'd hardly lay claim to such a grand title, but I do appreciate the compliment" he replied, smile a little stiff beneath the mask. His eyes darted around the room, for all intents and purposes it appeared to be just the two of them there. What reason, then, could there possibly be for the disguise. The secrecy made Owen squirm slightly in his chair. If there was one thing Chimera prided itself on it was transparency within their upper ranks, and Owen had become rather unused to the feeling of being played with. 

"If you're not yet, you soon will be. I've been keeping track of your kill count you know" the Director said with a wink. He was a tall, middle aged man with a slim but muscular build.

"Is there something you wanted to talk to me about Director?" 

"As a matter of fact, yes." The Director crossed the room and sat down behind his desk. He drummed his fingers on the desk's wooden face for a few, otherwise silent minutes, before sucking in a breath between his teeth and letting it out as a slow sigh. "I have been aware for some months now of a little... pet project you have taken on. One that might be starting to consume more resources than it's worth." Owen's spine stiffened.

"Ah, this would be about Agent Mega then."

"Yes I'm afraid it is." The Director sighed again, "Now, I've never been opposed to you taking out your... moods on dispensable personnel before, you know that," Owen nodded. He had, in fits of anger, put an end to a few unfortunate but inessential members of the staff before, and he'd yet to be reprimanded for it thus far. "But this is different. In the last two months we have lost fourteen agents, all for the sake of saving the life of a man that, if I'm not mistaken, you intend to eventually have killed anyway." 

"I have to be the one!" Owen snapped, "I don't just want him dead, I want to kill him. And I want to torture the living shit out of him before I do. I want him to suffer every bit as much as I did when he left me for dead on the floor of that fucking weapon's facility!" 

The Director watched him, expression unreadable as Owen tried to regain control over his breathing. 

"It means that much to you?" He said finally. Owen nodded. Making Curt suffer was the only thing that meant anything anymore. He had loved Curt Mega with everything he had, and now he hated him just as thoroughly. 

"Alright then!" The Director stood, and brushed some nonexistent dust from his suit lapels. "But we won't just be allowing you to throw further resources at this problem without consequence." 

He walked over to his office door and poked his head out. "Tatiana, dear, would you please come on in?" 

The Director stepped back, and in walked a young woman. She was neatly dressed, with red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Owen noted distantly that another man might be taken in by her appearance, though the most he could offer personally was to admit she was, unquestionably, pretty. 

"This," the Director said with a smile, gesturing for her to twirl around- a motion she flatly refused, "is Tatiana, our own little Russian agent. She is, strictly speaking, working for Von Nazi for the foreseeable future, but I've convinced him to loan her to you for the duration of your project. She is your resource to use, but if anything happens to her, not only will you not receive further assistance on this matter, but I suspect that it would put you rather out of favor with the Baron, if you catch my meaning. I would advise you not to be as careless with this one." 

Owen offered the girl what he hoped to be a charming smile, though through the mask it likely came out on the wrong side of pained. "Hello love, pleasure to be working with you." 

The girl - Tatiana, apparently - did not seem as eager to exchange pleasantries. She whirled to face the Director, pretty features all bunched up in a snarl. 

"What the hell is this you bastard! This was not our deal!" 

"I'd advise you against speaking to me that way again." The Director said, his voice cold, "You do remember what's at stake, don't you? Don't you want to see your family again?"

At that she fell silent, staring down at the points of her shoes. The person Owen had been a year ago would have felt sorry for her. Maybe he even would have tried to help her somehow. Too bad that person was dead. 

"Good! Now, why don't you try making a polite introduction to your new supervisor. You two will be working together for some time, it's important to make a good first impression." 

She looked up at Owen. The anger in her eyes was astounding, and he felt suddenly like he was looking into a funhouse mirror, seeing his own hurt and rage reflected back at him. He could see why the Director would pair the two of them together, just as he knew she would not be so quick to lay down and die as the agents he'd had looking after Curt before. 

She stuck her hand out stiffly for him to shake, extending her whole arm to keep him as far away as possible, and spat out "Pleasure to be working with you as well." Her tone made it very clear how little about this situation she found pleasing. 

"Excellent!" The Director clapped his hands together, then turned to Owen. "I trust you will show Tatiana the system you have set up, and get her acclimated to the ins and outs of what you'll be having her do," he said, motioning to the door in a clear dismissal.

Owen nodded, and walked to the door, gesturing for Tatiana to follow him. As he walked her back to the Surveillance room he gave her a brief rundown of her job, and what he would expect of her. Tail an American agent, don't die, don't let him die, don't be seen, and report back with anything unusual. Seemed simple enough. 

"So, do you have any questions so far," he offered, desperately hoping she didn't. 

"Just one."

"What is it?"

"What should I call you? You know my name, but it seems I am at a disadvantage."

Owen thought on it for a moment. It wasn't like he could just give her a name. It had been wise of the Director to have him wear the mask to meet her, after all she would be tailing Curt, and in the unlikely event that he were to catch her it was imperative she not be able to accidentally let it slip that Owen Carvour is alive and plotting against him. The less information she had the better. But what new alias to take? A smile crept across his face, slow and wicked. 

"Well love, you can call me the Deadliest Man Alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from someone else's POV. Either Curt's or Tatiana's, depending on whose voice I can figure out quicker


	4. Chapter 4

When Tatiana had been coerced into working for a Nazi, she'd had expectations. She'd expected to be miserable, she'd expected to have to do unspeakably horrible things to innocent people, and she'd expected the arrangement to be a brief one, ending with Von Nazi burning whatever documents or information he had on her family and sending her on her way with one more black mark on her conscience. 

So far, this had been nothing like what she'd expected. 

While she wasn't happy by any means, she wasn't as hopeless as she'd expected to be. The only person she really had to deal with these days was the so called "Deadliest Man Alive", and - as ridiculous as his chosen pseudonym might have been - he was certainly easier to work with than Von Nazi. For one thing, he never seemed overly interested in hitting on her the way Von Nazi had. Sure there were the the little pet names he dropped now and again, but she never felt like he was looking at her like a piece of meat. In fact, he didn't seem eager to look at her at all, his only focus was on the job. 

And that was the second thing, the job. When she'd submitted to the orders of a Nazi Baron she'd felt a cold certainty in her gut that the things she would be asked to do for him would haunt her until the end of her days. This job though... it was a walk in the park compared to what she'd been dreading. All she really had to do was babysit a drunk field agent. It confused her, certainly, she couldn't imagine what use this organization could possibly have for a washed up, out of shape American spy, but the Deadliest Man Alive didn't seem like the type to welcome questions about his motives, and Tatiana had no reason to risk her safety by getting invested. 

To be honest, as far as the spy business goes, this job would almost be too simple. If not for one, decidedly crucial factor. What should have been a brief quid pro quo arrangement- as in; she kills a few people for them, they burn her documents and let her have her family and her peace- had gone on for weeks now, and Tatiana suspected was going to continue indefinitely. This organization-whoever or whatever they were, had her under their thumb and seemed determined to keep her there. So she had no choice but to sufferer the Sisyphus seeming task that was trying to keep this "Agent Curt Mega" out of harm's way.

At least musing on the conditions of her dubious employment gave her something to focus on other than the impending feeling of claustrophobia, as she wriggled her way down another air duct passage.

"And you're sure this was the only way into this facility" she hissed into her earpiece.

"Positive love. Well... the only way available to you in any case." Came the slightly staticky reply. She hoped for his sake that she was imagining the hint of amusement in that bastard's voice. 

"Then how did your American get in, huh? This is too tight for me, and he is definitely bigger than I am." 

"Well you see my dear, he took the back door. But, as you are avoiding both him, and the Russian security guards patrolling the front, I had to come up with a third way in for you to remain undetected. I'm sure you understand." 

British bastard. 

"Alright, stop right there." Tatiana froze in the tunnel. "See that vent to the left of you?"

"Yes"

"According to the building's blueprints, through there should be the monitor room for their security system. If you take that out you shouldn't need to do much else, the target will be able to complete his little mission undetected."

Put that way it almost sounded like this was going to be easy. Too easy.

"How many security personnel are in that room right now?" 

"Well, you see-"

"How many" She snapped. There was a moment of tense silence over the com, just enough time for her to wonder if she'd made a serious mistake, then he laughed. 

"Four. Do try not to get yourself killed. It would rather interfere with my plans at the moment, and I'm sure death would prove rather inconvenient for you as well." 

Tatiana rolled her eyes, grateful that the notoriously short tempered mercenary had no way of seeing what face she was making, or any less than polite gestures she decided to throw in his general direction as she shimmied into a curled position, her feet facing the vent. Still, it was hard to resist the temptation to get the last word.

"Be careful, you almost sound like you'd miss me," and with that she kicked out the grate and slid into the room in one fluid motion. She got off two shots before her feet hit the floor, not as clean as she'd have preferred but they hit their targets sure enough. The other two went down on quick succession. All four were dead before the thought of screaming even crossed their minds, much less sounding a proper alarm. She touched the com piece in her ear with a steady hand.

"It's done." 

"Very good love, I'm impressed!" 

Tatiana hadn't done it to impress him. It was just the way a spy should be, if they wanted to stay alive. She thought about saying as much, but decided she'd already risked the Deadliest Man Alive's temper enough for one day. Instead she asked, "What now?"

"Now, all you have to do is sit there and watch the monitors. Hopefully the idiot brute won't need any further assistance now that no one is available to raise the alarm, but if it looks like he might be about to meet his end as it were, do try to step in."

"So what, I just sit here and watch to make sure this Agent Mega doesn't get hurt? Why are you protecting him? What's in it for you?" 

"Oh no, I don't need you to keep him from getting hurt!" The Deadliest Man Alive said with a laugh. "Quite the contrary actually, seeing Mega hurt is the absolute highlight of my evening. No no no, I don't need him unharmed, I just need him alive. And as for what's in it for me, I suggest you try not to get involved. My motivations are a bit above your clearance level I'm afraid."

Fair enough, she didn't know why she'd expect any better from a man like him. The spy business was full of secrets, and it's not like she held any great loyalty for the Deadliest Man Alive. If selling out his secrets would have gotten her any closer to freeing herself from these people and going home to her family she'd have done it in a heartbeat, and he probably knew that too. 

Tatiana watched the man on the monitors. For all she had heard of Agent Curt Mega, this man was not at all what she'd expected. Yet another thing to add to the ever growing list. This man was no master spy. His hands shook, he jumped at shadows. As she watched, he pulled a metal flask from his breast pocket and empty it in a few long gulps. He took a few more unsteady steps in the right direction before he stoped, and stood as if frozen in the center of the hallway. He looked suddenly vacant, like he was staring at something a million miles away. On one of the other monitors she could see a group of security officers approaching from the opposite direction, if they rounded another corner Mega would be in clear sight. He had to have been able to hear them, but he just stood there, staring into the distance. 

"We have a problem. Agent Mega will soon be comprised."

"Shit. Well, don't stand by on my account, go deal with the problem. Oh, and Tatiana?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let him see you." 

Right. She vaulted out the door and down the hallway. She turned around corner, and barreled straight into an armed security guard. Shit. She'd been so focused on identifying Mega's location she hadn't checked to see if the rout was clear. The guard took aim and fired. She dodged left, covering her left ear with a cry as the sound of gunfire exploded just to the side of her head. In doing so she dislodged her earpiece, and in the scramble to get out of ranged registered the pop and crack of it being crushed beneath her boot. Double shit. Now she was really flying blind in this, with no one to call for backup. She shot the guard and took off running, shooting the security cameras lining the halls as she went. Now that she wasn't the one in front of the monitor, she didn't want to risk the remaining security officers tracking her with them. It would also prevent the Deadliest Man Alive from being able to keep tabs on her mission, but without her earpiece he wasn't going to be much help anyway. 

As she came around another corner, Tatiana realized she had a choice to make. If she turned left she could intercept the security team before they reached Mega. If she was able to subdue them Mega would be able to complete his mission without ever even noticing she was there, there would be no chance of him detecting her. But without the element of surprise on her side, as by now they had undoubtedly heard the gunshots from her previous struggle, her chances of being able to take on an entire group and coming out alive were slim. If she turned right, she would reach Mega before the team did. He would see her, of course he would, but she had an easy path of escape memorized, and if she got to him before the security detail they could both be out of the building alive in under ten minutes. It went against her orders, but what good were orders if she ended up dead.

Tatiana turned right. Mega was standing just as she'd seen him on the monitor. His head was tilted up towards the ceiling and there was so much pain in his face that for a moment it took her breath away. His mouth was moving, and as she moved closer she could make out the words,

"Owen, no, please, Owen" over and over again. 

Whatever this was, they didn't have time for it. Tatiana shoved him roughly by the shoulders.

"Get moving! This way!" She grabbed his arm and began to tug him down the hallway. 

"Wha- Who are you? I- I don't understand, what's happening?"

"Never mind that!" She snapped, "we have to get out of here, now!" Apparently when the Deadliest Man had called him an idiot he hadn't been kidding. To call Mega slow on the uptake would have been a gross understatement. 

"But, my mission- Cynthia will-"

"I don't care about your mission, I just need you alive. Move faster!" 

Just a few more turns, then they'd be out. All the hallways were starting to blur together, but she trusted her instinct as well as her memory. Mega, trailing behind her, kept up a steady stream of questions and chatter, blabbering about someone named Cynthia and all the unpleasant things she was going to do to him if he returned to HQ without whatever documents he was supposed to be grabbing, but Tatiana tuned him out. She didn't stop running until they were outside. Mega collapsed onto the tarmac, breathing hard. She turned to go, trusting that his organization would come collect him at some point, but as she walked away his hand closed around her wrist.

"Wa-wait- hold on a minute- Wh-who are you?" He asked between gasps of hair. God he really was out of shape. Sure he'd been out of the field a few months apparently but what in the world had he been doing in that time? She pulled her arm away and he didn't fight her on it. 

"It doesn't matter who I am. Keep yourself out of trouble from now on, yes?"

She walked out of the parking lot and met up with another member of the Deadliest Man's company near the road, who drove her back to headquarters. She was not entirely sure why, when the Deadliest Man asked if Mega had seen her, she decided to lie. She told herself it was to keep on his good side, after all she'd been given clear orders to avoid being seen, and pushed all further questions about it to the back of her mind. The image of Mega's face, though, so open and full of grief, was a much harder thought to will away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who asked for it, a chapter from Curt's perspective will be coming soon


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Curt's POV

Breathing... hurt these days. Being awake, being alive and knowing that Owen wasn't. Owen. His fucking partner was gone, and Curt was still here. That didn't feel right. It wasn't fair. And the only way Curt had found to forget the monumental inequality of it all was at the bottom of a bottle... or a flask... or many, many shot glasses. 

Cynthia didn't understand. She was trying, in her way. Deep down Curt knew she loved him, otherwise he would have been fired by now, but she thought he could just work through this. She thought if he just got back in the field again, with a new partner and some cool new gadgets he could start to feel ok again. So she pushed him to get back into spying, and she pushed a new partner on him every week. She pushed and pushed and pushed and Curt didn't feel any closer to better, in fact he felt a lot closer to breaking, but nobody wanted to hear that. Not Cynthia, not Barb, not even his mom- not really. They just wanted the old Agent Curt Mega back, but Curt didn't feel like that guy anymore. That guy was cool under pressure. He had one liners, and hands that didn't shake when holding a weapon, and Owen... he had Owen. This Curt, the person he was now, had nothing. Nothing but an empty bottle of whiskey sitting on his bedside table, and nightmares with no one to hold him through them. He had an empty bed, and a communicator full of angry messages from Cynthia, telling him a hundred variations of "you better not be fucking dead you absolute fucking dumbass or I will raise you from the grave just to kill you again myself". Messages he couldn't bring himself to respond to. 

Instead he just lay there. Curled on his side in a bed that felt too big and too cold, watching his communicator light up again and again and feeling so listless and empty that even the thought of getting up to silence the thing felt like needles in his brain. 

He was scared to fall asleep. Admitting that, even to himself, made him feel like the worst kind of coward, but it was true. He was scared to wake up, gasping and sweat soaked from another nightmare and instinctively reach to the other side of the bed. He was scared to forget, even for a moment, what he'd lost. Because remembering again made it all the more painful. Sometimes he would dream of the two of them. On missions together, or even just laid out over the couch half-watching a movie. And it would feel so real that when he would wake up it would almost feel like Owen wasn't gone, that he was just back in England, only a phone call away. 

Then the memories would come back. The realization that Owen was dead. That he was never coming back because Curt let him die and Curt would spend the next few hours dry heaving in the bathroom, sobbing over the toilet. 

So he drank himself to sleep most days, and if he got drunk enough he wouldn't remember having dreamt in the morning. Plus the hangover felt like a well earned punishment. But now the whiskey was gone, and getting more would involve leaving the bed and seeing other people. So that wasn't an option tonight. That left Curt alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that kept cycling back to Owen Owen OwenOwenOwenowenowen- 

Focus on there here and now, that's what Cynthia said. Curt wasn't sure exactly how that was supposed to help. The here and now was empty and agonizing, and seemed to happen to him whether Curt focused on it or not. Still, it's not like he had anything better to think about. 

Today's mission went bad. Like really bad. Like he'll be beyond lucky if he's not out of a job after this bad. It had been his first solo mission since... the thing he was trying not to think about. Cynthia said she felt she could trust him with that responsibility again, but he was pretty sure she just ran out of agents willing to be partnered with him. 

The first part went... it went fine. Nothing happened, he was able to get in without detection, and if he was halfway to drunk for most of it no one was there to see. But as he'd been mentally walking himself through the tools he would need to pick the lock on the filing cabinet where the documents he was after were stored, he'd thought of a joke. It was harmless really, looking back now he couldn't even remember what it'd been about, but he'd turned with a smirk on his face to tell it to... to someone who wasn't there anymore. Suddenly he'd been taken back. He was standing in a different Russian Weapon's Facility. He'd been watching his partner run ahead (ahead, he should have been safe, they were running away from the bomb, ahead should have meant he would be the one to get out he should have been safe) watching him slip watching him fall seeing him- no.

If it hadn't been for that woman... That woman! Who the hell was she? She saved him, why? She'd been Russian, maybe she worked in the facility. But then why did she save him? And why had it almost seemed like she'd... known him somehow? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. The old Curt Mega could have figured it out. Maybe if this one could too... maybe... it wouldn't fix anything. It couldn't. Owen was dead. But maybe, if he could do just this one thing right. Be the spy Owen would have wanted him to be. Maybe...

He watched his communicator light flicker on and off for the rest of the night. In the morning he called Cynthia back, and was very... very lucky that she (secretly) loved him.


End file.
